The Leon Pogroms
by GoldenEagle
Summary: The story of the persecution of the catpeople of Gaea (focusing on Merelu)
1. Default Chapter

** The Leon Pogroms **

By GoldenEagle 

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_ And I don't know why _

I don't know if 

We are, we are 

Seven days and not a return 

Seven lives and not a thing learned... 

'Cause I am sleeping on a time bomb... 

Ask her if she's got an answer 

Do you know 

-Vertical Horizon, _ "We Are" _

Prologue 

The "expedition" was quite doomed (or fated) from the start. It was upon a single merchant, his cart loaded with many different types, tastes, and rarities of fish. Such smells in the slowly thinning forests outside of Asturia's borders were too strong to a keen nose, too longed for by an empty stomach, that there really was no chance that the poor trader wouldn't be picked off of. Perhaps if she had made her move earlier, attacked before the whistling, light-stepping man had pulled so close to the wall, things may have ended differently. But there is no rational reason for those who are dying, withering from the inside out. 

The man walked along quite happily. He wasn't too tall, but of average height. Young, too, it would seem. The kind of man that you could tell always had something of personal value on his mind at the prime of his life. Most likely a loving family, a faithful wife, maybe even a couple of small, blonde haired, blue eyed children (he was fair headed and light eyed in retrospect, as most Asturians are). He had most likely returned from a long journey, and was looking forward to the warmth of a small home with everything and everyone his simple tastes could really long for. 

Then _she_ came along and unknowingly put into action something that would destroy a thousand lives other than her own, including this man's life, and perhaps the well being of his family, as well. 

It could be best described as a guerrilla attack, a hit and run tactic. There was a dart of white and black before the man was on his back in the dusty road, that strange moment passing in which he couldn't really decipher what had just happening. He stayed like that for no more than a few seconds, staring up through the top of the trees and the bright, brilliant oceanic blue skies. A few seagulls circled around and around above him before he was back on his feet with a jolt. Something had knocked him over. 

That something was taking off with a great deal worth of raw and seasoned fish. This creature was dropping things left and right, so full was its arms of these delicacies. The man growled out. "You damn cat! Bring that back!" Yes, a cat was what she was, a rather thick-furred creature with creamy white fluffs of hair littered with black designs, oval in nature, black surrounding that same creamy white in the middle. Her ears and puffed tail were tipped with ebony as well. Yet had the man seen the frailty of her form, seen the definition of her protruding ribs even through her soiled top, he may have had mercy and let her go without any outburst of emotion. But there was little time left to think of anything. There was a flash of a nutmeg brown and then the catgirl was shuffling back, her deep green eyes wide with terror as she dropped what she had tried to steal and bolted to the left. 

It was an Asturian soldier, a troop of them, in fact, that had made the teen cat run, her silver hair escaping the rope she had tied it up with. It flowed like starlight in the midmorning sun as she stumbled and tried to gather her strength to flee. The merchant was first opening his mouth to thank the Asturian force, but it slowly fell open in shock, then clamped shut tightly in horror as the scene began to unfold before him. 

The catgirl had almost escaped the clearing, her weak, panicked breath rising above any other noise at the moment. It was with her last bound that the obvious leader of the group (he wore the colors of a high Asturian military power) pushed is horse forward, stepped a little more into the beasts path, and unsheathed his sword in a long, powerful arc. All of this happened so quickly that, if a person were to blink, they could have missed the whole flow of movements. In that same movement, the unsheathed sword rushed forward and struck the cat, hitting her a blow across the face. The man who had been traveling at first thought the sword bearer had struck through the creature's head completely, the movement had been that powerful. But the girl had landed on the forest floor, on her knees, hands grasping. No, he hadn't struck through her head, he realized. The man on horseback looked down at her coldly, waiting for her reaction to the blow he had dealt. The other five men on horseback behind him waited as well, all without a flicker of emotion on their face. 

The girl had been clutching the foliage on the road (it was autumn on this side of Gaea) for a few seconds in utter silence. The breeze could be heard whistling through the trees high above, carrying the smell of the ocean to the group and the smell of blood to others who may have been passing by. Yes, the cat was bleeding. It was that clear to the merchant, though why she made no sound, he couldn't understand. Yet, as suddenly as everything had fallen apart about him, the girl's head snapped up in his direction, as if to look at him. But he realized that wasn't possible, and the reason why he understood so made him take a step back, recoil from her. The sword had cut across her face, into her cheekbone, the bridge of her nose, and both her eyes. It was all blood on her face, it seemed. She looked dead already. Then the cry arose from her throat, a noise no human could possibly make. A wailing, screaming, banshee of a cry. The merchant was holding his ears. The Asturians didn't even flinch. 

She was stumbling to her feet, that same cry issuing from her. She groped forward, hands slipping from her face and out toward the merchant desperately, her own blood dripping from her fingertips. Still that scream rushed from her throat. Finally there was a reaction from the leading man, a scowl of disgust that contorted his face viciously, and he was forward again. There was a good chance that the traveler had screamed out to her wordlessly in a pitch that was as inhuman as her own, but it was lost in her own desperate pleading to the heavens. The sword was upon her unseeing, unknowing form again, this time slashing down, nipping into her throat. The scream died away. Blood followed its wake, and, by some miracle, the feline was dashing blindly into the forest, running into trunks as she held her throat. The Asturians didn't follow. They had no reason to. She was a fleeing corpse. 

By this time, the merchant, the husband, the father, whatever his title may be, was trembling, slipping to his knees. All six of the men advanced upon him as if nothing had happened until finally the leader of the group, dressed in the creamy colors of his position, was on horseback above the man, streams of blood flowing down the blade of his vertical sword until it reached its hilt and puddled there until it finally poured over onto its owner's gloved hand. The merchant was bowing down now, kissing the ground where the man's stallion stood. The horse pranced away from the begging lips, as if answering him, denying him, already of the mercy her so helplessly sought. The trader looked up, his eyes brimming with tears at the realization that his wife, his children, that small cozy house, would never fill his vision again. The man above him looked down with an expression that portrayed admiration for the trembling man on his knees before him. 

"Rejoice. Today is great for you," His deep baritone voice seemed to echo in the man's ears. "You will die for the purpose of Asturia, that her cause may be furthered in its honor." And with that he brought the sword down on the merchant's neck. 

So was the scene of the history making "Crimson Massacre" in which they say a military troop of Asturian, numbering over one hundred men, was slaughtered by a group of outlaw beast people. This rumor spread far, throughout all of Gaea, passing along a malice for those creatures that were neither fully animal nor human. Yet no one found out the truth. 

That the only causalities of the Crimson Massacre was a blonde haired father. Such a lie told to bring about the Leon Pogroms, in which the entire race of those part feline and part human were nearly wiped out. This is the story of the Leon Pogroms, and the wrongs done to the cat people of Gaea.


	2. Almost Trampled. Twice.

** The Leon Pogroms **

By GoldenEagle 

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_ Still longing for what yesterdays lost... _

The dreams we had and we shared - shattered, broken... 

All the pain that we could not see 

We both knew what we wanted 

And we took it believing it free 

And we took it believing it free. 

-Sarah Mclachlan,_ "Mercy"_

**Author's notes:** Phah! I finally wrote _ something_. Thank the gods for inspiration, ne (i.e. Sarah Mclachlan and, I dare say, Staind)? Well, on with this story. My other stories are pretty much at a standstill due to a heavy case of writer's block. Anywho, toodloo. Please review! ****

Chapter One: Almost Trampled. Twice. 

Merle was so caught up in her game of tag with a local stable boy that she didn't even notice the group of horses galloping down the main road until they were upon the two dust covered, rolling forms. She let out a small yelp before grabbing Jonah (her playmate) by the hand and pulling him out of the way of sharp hooves and Asturian soldiers. She stuck her tongue out at them and received a particularly vicious glare from one of the men before they had tumbled by. 

"By Escaflowne, I wonder what _that_ was about." Muttered the twelve year old Jonah who was currently pouring all his attention into a scrape he had received when being dragged out of danger's way by the catgirl before him. 

Merle gave him an odd look, her shoulder length pink hair shifting in the warm Fanalian breeze. She found it odd to hear the new slang of the younger people of Fanalia. So many terms referring to the war. And she had seen all that they spoke about. She unconsciously shrugged. What did it matter now? The war was over, Fanalia was going through the long process of being rebuilt, and she was strangely stoic and nostalgic. At seventeen, Merle had gained little self control and even less of a sense of "everything has its own time and place". "I hope nothing's wrong." Muttered Merle, playing with the tip of her tail out of habit. Somehow the hostility of the look she had been thrown and the determination with which the Asturian soldiers had charged forward unsettled her. The sense of contentment caused by years of peace and tranquillity among the land of Fanalia dimmed a bit at the moment. The boy Jonah didn't seem to catch hold of her uneasiness. Perhaps it was an animal's instinct. 

"Hey, don't run off! You know I can't keep up with you! Merelu!" She left the boy yelling out to her as she sprinted forward, her only thoughts consisting of talking to Lord Van about what the soldiers had wanted and whining about how close they had come to trampling her into the ground. 

It took her less than an hour to reach the palace, located at the center of the city. She was at the gates about the time that the same troop of Asturians tore out of the palace gates and almost trampled her again. Not to mention that they also came close to destroying a few carts and Fanalian citizens, as well. Merle glared at them as one of the palace guards helped her to her feet. 

"Are you all right, Lady Merelu?" He asked, genuine concern in his voice. She brushed the dirt off of her already muddy dress and nodded stiffly. She wasn't very fond of Asturia at the moment, to say the least. 

"Is Lord Van in his study?" 

"He _was_, Lady Merelu, to take the message sent by King Aston." Translation: "He was in the study, but he's probably gone by now, pining away-" 

"Up on the roof." Merle sighed, glancing up at the setting sun. "Always on the roof, stargazing, even when the sun is out." She sighed. The guard gave her a sympathetic look. 

"Why don't you go and see him, Merle?" The man asked kindly. She looked up at him. He was handsome, she had to admit, and young, maybe a couple of years older than her. She blushed quietly as she began playing with her tail again. The boy suddenly seemed to startle out of his warm gaze and looked a little horrified with himself. "I'm sorry, Princess Merelu, I shouldn't speak so informally with you-" 

"It's fine, really." She answered, smiling up at him, her blush fading but the sparkle to her eyes heightening. "It's Solomon, right?" She asked. He nodded, a faint blush growing on his freckled cheeks. His black hair just barely escaped the wooden helmet he wore, sending a few wisps into his silver eyes. Yes, beautiful. His expression is a lot like- 

"Van." The name from her lips broke both the guard and her from the trance and she looked away, feeling guilty suddenly. "I need to see him. G'bye." And she bolted off. 

"Goodbye." He whispered after her. ********************* 

"Van-sama! Van-saaaammaaa!" Merelu had resorted to a whining wail as she sprinted through the castle. Lord Van _hadn't_ been on the roof of the palace, nor in his study. This made the catgirl uneasy. Shouldn't she be able to find him by now? She had been trampling about for at least the equivalent of half an hour, wailing for "Van-sama" and somehow managing to tangle herself up with almost every maid, cook, or guard in the palace she passed before she finally found him, out in the gardens. He was seated out beneath a fig tree (or the closest thing Gaea could offer to such a plant), already looking up at her as she somehow increased his lope into a sprint, going down to all fours. 

"Merelu!" He laughed as she barreled into him, knocking both of them to the deeply green grass. He ruffled her pink hair as he pulled both of them up, smiling largely as the catgirl stared up at him with huge green eyes. 

"Van-sama," she said softly, but after his spoken name her voice came as a whine. "I looked _everywhere_ for you! You weren't on the roof or in your study or in the war room," (thank the gods, she thought offhandedly), "or in the sparring room or-" 

"Merelu, quit babbling. I'm right here." He ruffled her hair one more time before standing, the furry bundle that had attacked him clinging to his arm, forcing him to half pull her up as well. He couldn't help but laugh again. "Merelu!" He said through mirth, his eyes sparkling. 

She smiled back up at him, letting her earlier fruzzled mood slip. "Come play with me!" She mewled out happily as she tugged on his arm. 

"Merelu, I can't! We can't. We have to pack." She looked up at him, suddenly puzzled, her arms slipping from his. 

"Pack?" She asked excitedly. "For what?" 

"We've been invited to Asturia for a ball. King Aston is holding it himself." 

The catgirl frowned. "I was invited, too?" She asked in a confused voice. Her grim surprise sobered the king beside her a bit, and his smile went down a notch, though it lost none of its sincerity. 

"It's a good sign, Merle. Perhaps after the war things will be easier." He said calmly. "Hopefully it has united us. _All_ of us." 

_Even the beast people? _Merle thought doubtfully, childhood instinct rising above current comfort. But all her worrisome musings fell away as Van nudged her, giving a small wink. "There'll be food, and dancing, and plenty of handsome young men for you. You're becoming very dainty, you know." 

Merle gagged dramatically. "Dainty? Is that how you'd describe me? Dainty's for silk slippered aristocrats." 

He laughed at this, and she couldn't help but notice how deep his voice was becoming, how tall he had grown since their childhood and the war. "Well, no. Savagely beautiful is a better way of putting it. I'll have to keep an eye on any of the boys who go after you." 

She stuck her tongue out as the stepped from the shade, heading towards the tall walls of the castle. The gardens had been made public by Van's request, and were not bordered by the high brick towers that stood watch around the home of the king of Fanalia. "You're just required to say that because you're my brother." Strange that she choked on the word "brother". Strange how it bothered her so, how much she wished it were a different word. 

He chuckled as she grasped his arm in a very deceivingly sister like way. "Someone has to keep you out of trouble." He said knowingly. 

"Phah." She griped before grinning mischievously. "I'll race you to the gates." Van gave a seemingly stern nod as he released her arm, crouching a bit, ready to sprint forward. She mimicked his position. "On the count of three. One, two- Hey!" She cried out as he jumped forward, leaving her fuming behind. "Cheater!" His laughter was the only answer she got as she finally came after him. 

Merelu should have won the race, she is a cat, after all. But, of course, she let Van Fanel win, pretending like she had actually tried her hardest, and Van knowing she was pretending. He looped an arm around her shoulders as they made their way into the cool interiors of the palace, both grinning hugely. 

Merle completely forgot about the Asturian soldiers who had almost ran her over until that night, after all her packing was done and she was alone with her overactive thoughts. Then, of course, she couldn't sleep. 

** STOOOOP!!!** I need your help! I'm planning on placing tidbits of quotes and lyrics on each of these chapters, and if one of you can help me with that I'd be _ so_ happy!!! PLEASE!!! Email me at GoldenEagle7777@yahoo.com or you can put it in the review OR IM me on AOL at Evilplatypusmoos. I just want you guys to help out!


	3. Census by Fireflies

** The Leon Pogroms **

By GoldenEagle 

Author's Note: Do tell me if I misspelled census. Please? And, give me an opinion, purty purty please. The first thing written in ages due to the chemical imbalances in my head. Go figure. OH!! Oh, yeah!!! I added little song/quote things to the two previous installments, so go check it out! YAY!

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Chapter Two: Census by Fireflies 

_Once was a magical place _

Over time it was lost... 

The castle floor lies in traps... 

Now the drawbridge has been lifted 

As the millions 

They drop to their knees... 

Disillusioned as they enter 

They're unaware what's 

Behind castle walls... 

They pay homage to a king... 

His tears are frozen stiff 

Icicles drip from his eyes... 

Have they lost their heads 

Or are they just all blind mice 

We've heard all their stories 

One too many times 

Hypnotized by fireflies 

That glow in the dark... 

Welcome to the tragic kingdom... 

-No Doubt, _"Tragic Kingdom"_

"I'm not crazy! I'm not!" A girl's cries ring through silent halls. "Don't leave me alone! NO!!! Not again!" Sobbing in the darkness, a child in a woman's body curls in on herself, calling for her brother, calling for anyone. "I never hurt anyone!" She screams. "I've never hurt anyone! I'm not crazy!" 

The murderess screams until her voice goes, and then falls asleep, as she does, every night, in the dank, deep dungeons of Asturia. 

********** 

"Merelu, stop bouncing about." Van said for what must have been the fourth time in the last twenty minutes. Of course, he didn't sound as amused as he had at the beginning of the ride. In fact, his entire cheerful attitude had dropped with the continual annoyance of the furball in constant, nervous motion in the cart with him. 

Merle tried to stop. She really did. It was just the utter boredom of the long ride to the Austurian capital that made all her energy coil and burst up like a little, fur covered jack-in-the-box. It was all of thirteen seconds (Van had been counting) before she erupted into nervous conversation again. "Van-_saaaaaammaaa_... How much _longer_? And do I _have _to wear this? And when do we get to eat? And-" 

"Merelu!" Interrupted the flustered king, his eyes narrowing in warning. The catgirl's mouth closed with an audible snap at the tone and her ears went back. She began to fidget with her fingers and the silk material of her long royal gown, looking away, outside, to hide her rising tears. Of coarse, Van immediately felt guilty, and cursed her silently for her unconscious mind games. "Merelu..." he began more softly, though there was still a tense note underneath the controlled voice. "Just calm down. We still have a few more hours before we get there. As for the dress, yes, Merle, you need to wear it. You're representing royal Fanalia. Asturia's king can't go thinking the princess of our entire country is some seventeen year old, hooligan of a catgirl who can't sit still for thirty seconds and would rather be playing with the stable boy than speaking with the upper class families that rule the world." His tone had softened to an affectionate drawl and he ruffled her hair on her head, pulling some of the pink strands further from the fancy do it had been in before. Wisps and strands and chunks of light, straight hair fell over the small crown jewels that crested above her forehead in a wild yet elegant pattern set in Fanalian gold. 

She looked up to him, his hand still warm on the top of her head, his eyes at ease, fond as they looked down on her. Merelu smiled despite her earlier gloom, and despite the strange pain that filled her heart when he looked at her like that. Those pangs spoke of mature and smooth edged truths that she was not ready to accept. Truths that told her that the look he gazed down on her with was just that. A love that he felt he had to lower down to her, a love that he felt that she needed. It asked her for nothing, though she willingly gave everything for him. She wanted him to want her. That's what the pangs said. She needed him, yes, but she needed him to need her in the same way. 

Of course, all these mature truths passed through her subconscious in a millisecond, and she was smiling up at him, offering him the things he did not ask for. 

She found the calm she couldn't earlier shortly after, and fell asleep with her head resting against his chest, purring lightly in content, the king beneath her smiling, picking at and soothing her hair in a long standing habit. They were a few miles into the borders of Asturia when Merelu woke up with a start, her ears pricked, her nose wrinkling with scent. Van looked at her, body tensing at her rigid profile, adrenaline pumping at the thought of danger. He relaxed as she settled down again, though there was curious innocence on her face as she leaned over him to pull the curtains of the coaches windows to the side, her head leaning out. Feeling a bit squished, Van pushed her away lightly, looking out himself. 

"What?" He asked, eyes alert, on guard. 

Her nose twitched again and then she opened her mouth hesitantly, eyes still a bit clouded from her nap. "That smell... There's more here than I've met in all my life." She said, her tail curling and uncurling as she shuffled forward again. "Come look, Van-sama!" She said in hushed excitement. 

With a small sigh in half felt annoyance, he wiggled in next to her, the coach's window so small (to make it more difficult for assassin's arrows to make it through) that both their cheeks were pressed firm together, their pointed noses pushing out into the sunset atmosphere. For a moment, Van was distracted by the velvet of fur that grew on Merelu's cheek, but the moment was gone as he saw the gracefully moving stream of beings outside of their transport. Most were covered in hooded garments to protect their face from the chill of Asturian breezes that already told of an early and harsh winter to come. Some weren't, though. Some were in loose and tearing summer garments, rags around their feet. The rich and the poor of Gaea seemed to mix on this road to the Austurian capital. Van had thought he had heard those outside and felt the coach slow, but he hadn't imagined that there were so many surrounding them, all heading in the same direction. It had been quiet for so many, and with a jolt of realization, Van comprehended onto what had caught Merelu's attention. 

"They're mostly catpeople." He said, startled. Merelu nodded, the softness of her cheek rubbing up against his, the velvety fur tickling him uncomfortable. Without thinking of what a scene the two youths must be make with half their heads pressed out of this lavish coach, both wearing crown jewels that couldn't seem to hold back the tidal wave of either's hair from their face, he called out to a hooded figure traveling closer than most to the carriage of tanned leather. 

"Why the crowd?" he called out to the entity on the back of a foreign horse that was grey and shaggy. A northern horse, he realized before even finishing speaking. Almost as soon as the inquisition had left his mouth, two more horses of the same obvious origin carried their riders to the side of the one the Fanalian king had spoken to. These two both wore heavy, furlined hoods, just as their companion did. There seemed to be some sort of silent conversation that followed, and then the one farthest from the coach brought their mount over. Immediately one of Van's guards moved forward but retreated to a safe and near distance when the king pulled back slightly to push his hand out and wave him away. Van's face was then pressed out again, curious. 

The rider pressed close to the carriage before he unhooded himself. Herself, more correctly. A cat woman who seemed to be in her early thirties nodded to the two royals, her thick and long fur a silver that seemed to match her steed's. Her eyes were a sharp golden color and pulled back exotically at the corners. Black waves of hair fell around those eyes, and her ears sprouted from the mane, grey tipped with ebony. When she spoke, she spoke with a far northern accent, one that was never heard in these parts. "Pardon, your Highnesses?" 

"The crowd. Why is everyone heading to the capital?" 

She gave them both a harsh stare, one that analyzed and then discarded a moment later. "There's a census. All of the cat races have been called from Asturia and neighboring kingdoms. It's not mandatory, supposedly, but they are urging everyone to come. Food is being given to the poor and financial need to those who have food. Everyone needs it, after the war." There was a small pause, and she was staring ahead, ears drawn back, in deep thought, it seemed, before she looked back down to them. "I would have thought you had known, King and Princess Fanel?" 

Van looked as though he thought he should have known, as well. "Yes, well, we've been called for a political gathering. I had no idea there was a census being held." 

She looked down on them like a goddess to her subjects in a time in need. There's something she knows, thought Merelu. Something important that we don't. "You don't know, your Highness? I would have thought... But haven't your people been called out as well? I have talked to many from the Fanalian providences that have been called, if not forced, out this very day." 

Van frowned. Merelu decided to butt in. "Today? We just left today. And we haven't heard. A census? What for?" The foreign traveler was now looking at her a bit wearily, like this bundle of energy was her responsibility in some way. "But, Van-sama, wouldn't you have to approve something like that-" 

"Enough, Merelu." He interrupted her, obviously upset and in deep thought about something. He was already pulling back in to the darkened entrapment of their ride, ready to mull over something. "Thank you, madam. Good luck to you and your riding partners." 

"And to you, your highness. May Luna keep watch over your path." She gave a low bow in her saddle before trotting off, Merelu watching as the group of foreign riders began to split and spread out, forming a familiar pattern that seemed familiar. Her tail twitched and her ears went back, her eyebrows rising. 

"Van-samma..." 

"Not now, Merelu-" 

"But Van-sa-" 

_"Merelu-" _

"The riders!" He didn't interrupt her, but looked up, inquisitive. "The three? They're spread out like our guard. There's a few more in the same garbs... Van-sama, are the _escorting _us?" He was moving forward, pushing her away a bit harsher than he meant to. He peered out, and, yes, she was right. He could see them, a mirror image to his own guards, and then when he scrambled to the other side, pushing Merelu away again, they were on this side, too. All in a protective stance. "Van-_sama_! Look!" She was distracted, now, by the view that leapt up to meet their eyes. It was the Asturian capital, lit in the now darkness as if the buildings were aflame. "Wow! _Wow_!" Yes, wow, thought Van, staring out at a nation that was a giant to his own. But his tension grew, his frown deepening, as he saw the Asturian soldiers standing post on the approaching gates to the city, upheld weapons silhouetted like a warring army's against the flickering of what could have been millions of fireflies forming the outline of a nation.


End file.
